


The Sweetness of Lemoncakes

by AvaRosier



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Food Porn, Modern Westeros, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 02:17:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15062858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: The last thing Sansa Stark needed when she moved all the way to King's Landing for a fresh start was to discover that her erstwhile soulmate worked in the same building she did. But that was okay. They could both be adults about this and politely co-exist.  And if she had frequent, steamy dreams about Special Agent Oberyn Martell, well that was simply a burden she would have to tolerate.Except it turns out Sansa knows something about their newest case, something that now has Oberyn using her flat for surveillance.  But what's the point of feeling an attraction to one other, to being bound by fate, when the two of them want very different things out of life?Some differences just can't be bridged, could they?





	The Sweetness of Lemoncakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rileymatthews](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rileymatthews/gifts).



> Note: some bits of this fic I've transplanted from my plans for 'Jar of Hearts' (now deleted), some little bits I drew from 'Who Am I, Darling, to You?' (forever wip, single tear). Technically, I'm doing this for the ASOIAF Rarepairs week, but I highly doubt I'll make it to the end in time, but that's okay. I know where this fic is going and it'll get there in maybe ten chapters or less. At least there's that.

 

The metrorail was even more crowded on Wednesday mornings in June than it had been in February, when Sansa had moved here.  Not only were there the usual commuters heading to work, there were also tourists poring over maps of the underground transit system, trying to figure out how to get to their next 'Must See' destination in King's Landing.

Sansa had been lucky enough to nab a space for herself, her work tote stuffed between her calves. The takeaway container Satin had made sure to give her ( _“_ _I’m only trying to spare you the embarrassment of showing up to work with coffee-stained trousers”_ ) was perilously balanced on her lap. Inside the open box was a cup of coffee- black, lightly sugared- and a chocolate croissant. Her personal reward for it being the middle of the week and ever so closer to Friday.

She made quick work of the croissant, tearing away pieces to dip into the coffee before stuffing them in her mouth. The open container did its job catching the flaky crumbs, saving her wide-legged lavender trousers from buttery, chocolatey ruin.

Altogether, there were ten stops from Dragonfly Square to Mudvale Station, with one line change in the middle. Sansa had lived in King's Landing long enough to have the timing down pat, and so she was finished with her breakfast before the platform switch. The coffee, she had a few minutes more to savor- soggy crumbs and all- before she finally ascended onto the west side of Rush Avenue.

The weather today was a bit muggy from the early morning heat and the frequent humidity that rolled in from the sea- making her glad she'd braided her hair into a loose, sideswept bun. Last Saturday, when she'd sat in the salon chair, there had been a bitter satisfaction to see the long strands looking the most red they had in three years. Practically all the stags she'd saved on the rent for her flat had gone into fixing the costly mistake of her entire relationship with Harry, the transition from dark brown back to bright, coppery red serving as a visible symbolism. Bit by bit, Sansa was finding herself again.

She crossed the busy intersection in a flux of young professionals and blue collar workers, the latter heading to and from the warehouses that rose up over Blackwater Rush. Further along Rush Avenue, to the south of the warehouse district, was Fishmarket Square, home to the biggest Farmer's Market the city had to offer and loads of trendy restaurants and boutiques for rich hipsters to patronize for social media cred. Which was convenient for Sansa, because she did not want to stick out like a sore thumb in her cropped white blazer, matching blouse with tiny black bats, funky vintage earrings, or even the lavender trousers.

How she had missed bright colors!

The run-down side street that stretched parallel to Rush Avenue _did_ have a name, which Sansa only knew because she saw it on the envelopes that came and went to her work's false front: Bulwer  & Lydden Holdings. There was nothing like a steady stream of junk mail to convince everyone in the vicinity that they were _most definitely not_ housing the Organized Crime division of the Westerosi Bureau of Investigations.

As she had been informed during her first week here, the new office location right next to Blackwater Rush had come about as a result of the Assistant Director finally acknowledging that there was a need to expand the division so they could handle the caseload they were given. Alas, the WBI building in the Federal Plaza did not have enough room, so they had been offloaded to a property that had been seized from the Mussovian mafia.

Though to hear Agen- _Jaime_ tell it, the AD had just wanted to get Organized Crime's own Supervisor as far away from him as possible without causing undue bureaucratic strain. So, four stops away on the Hook line, it was.

Sansa paused and stared up at the unobtrusive building, a twinge of anxiety in her chest. Breathing deeply, she muttered, “You are doing your best, and it is enough.” The daily affirmations had been her therapist's idea, back in Eyrie City. She'd felt stupid at first, standing there talking to herself in the mirror. But now? Maybe she was beginning to feel a bit more confident about her life and her choices.

Sansa Stark was looking forward, not back.

Striding past the receptionist (who had a gun holster secured underneath her desk), she stepped up to a set of doors and waved her security badge over the scanner so they would slide open to admit her. The interior of the building was mostly warm red brick, with plenty of high windows to let the light in. The best part was being able to open some of them and let in the breeze without there being security concerns. She appreciated this because it made going to work almost feel like five Fridays when you had a field trip or a holiday party. Less utilitarian.

The open floor plan meant the agents had their desks scattered throughout, but the high ceilings which had made space for the foreman's office now accommodated the division's Supervisor. Sansa shared a bright smile with Agent Dacey Mormont and her partner, Agent Missandei Naath, but a more polite nod with Senior Special Agent Arthur Dayne.

“Miss Stark,” he greeted her, making his way towards his desk in the back corner. The one opposite it was still empty since his former partner, Willem Darry, had retired.

Sansa was not a special agent, but an admin assistant. Don't get her wrong, she loved her job. It wasn't anything she would've seen herself doing when she studied PoliSci at university, but with the economy the way it was, at least she had something to put on her CV even if if was 'administrative assistant'. She didn’t intend to do this forever—there _had_ been an opportunity to continue her internship at the City Hall back in EC— but at least this way she had been able to move far away from the disaster her life had become  _with_ a job.

Granted, fate had found a way to bite her in the ass just when she thought it had all been too good too easily. The goal was to get her bearings in King’s Landing and see what cropped up. But until then…

“SSA Dayne,” she murmured, unable to stop the small thrill that coursed through her whenever she was in his presence.

Who wouldn't be? Arthur Dayne was only one of the most decorated and respected agents in the WBI, a legend in his own right. Handsome, too, with that salt-and-pepper hair and great jawline. Though, speaking frankly, he was perhaps too strait-laced for her liking. Almost as soon as the thought came to her, Sansa was casting a surreptitious glance towards the empty set of desks near a massive potted ficus.

She set her things on her desk with a small huff of annoyance and headed into the break room to put her lunch in the refrigerator. There, she found Agent Jon Snow sitting at the table, crumpled fast food wrappers littering the surface, in the middle of a dramatic retelling of a stakeout he'd done back when he was a rookie. Across from him, Agent Gendry Waters from Ballistics listened with rapt attention. Though Jon's partner, Agent Meera Reed, completely ignored him- her focus wholly on the bacon and egg sandwich she was currently inhaling. All three paused long enough to give Sansa a chorus of 'good mornings' which she returned with a distracted wave.

Once she established herself at her desk, she set about checking her work e-mail and sorting through the files sitting in her inbox. She was pleasantly surprised to see the paperwork from the latest undercover sting already typed up and signed for her. Almost as prompt as Agent Tarth. There would be a meeting at 10, and Sansa would need to have the new case files organized into copies for each agent by then. At least Agent Samwell Tarly would be handling the AV system- something about an audio recording from a wiretap. Anything that gave her less chance of embarrassing herself in front of her new co-workers was a plus in Sansa’s book.

Half an hour flew by before she finally escaped the file room and made her way up the stairs to the conference room, a stack of binders clutched to her chest. These stairs were the terrifying kind that not only had empty air in between the steps, but were also situated where practically everyone in the bullpen would see if you stumbled. The kind of thing that brought back your paranoid high-school insecurity.

So  _of course_ it would be on these stairs that the pressure from her tight hold on the binders would cause one to be ejected from the pile.

 _Of course_  this would happen when one foot was still hovering in the air on the step below.

 _Of course_ , when she let out a squeak of alarm and tried to grab for the errant binder, she would lose her balance and start to careen backwards.

For a single, terrifying second that seemed to stretch into an eternity, Sansa lost all sense of gravity.

Her back slammed into something solid. Strong arms curled around her torso and she found herself still vertical, now standing on the lower step. Once her brain understood that she wouldn’t be cracking her skull on the landing, relief coursed through her and she let out a great big breath.

“It’s alright Sansa,” her savior murmured from next to her ear. “I’ve got you.”

At the sound of the familiar baritone, with its faint Rhoynish accent, Sansa’s head snapped around to see Oberyn Martell’s distinctive profile. The skin over her left rib burned, reminding her that this was the closest she had ever physically been to her soulmate.

Awareness prickled along her nerve endings, especially where his hands were firmly curled around her hip and arm. Most especially where his breath drifted over her right ear. “Agent Martell!” She blurted out, partially in shock and partially out of embarrassment, twisting away from his touch. 

There was a pause, an almost imperceptible shadow of something in his deep brown eyes. Regret? Whatever he had just been reminded of, it was gone as quickly as it came. Oberyn stepped away, reaching down to pick up the fallen binder. It ought to be criminal how great he looked, a fact she was constantly aware of every day that she came into work. Today he wore black jeans that could only be called 'loose' when compared to Jon's, the boots that accentuated his swagger, and a salmon-colored shirt, sleeves rolled up over his forearms and unbuttoned one or two places beyond what was probably professional. His hair was getting long enough to curl at the ends. He straightened up and Sansa could only hope she didn't look like she had just been ogling him.

“Are you alright there, Ms Stark?” Oberyn's tone was even, his words measured. Re-establishing the polite distance they had been keeping from one other ever since Sansa showed up on her first day only to realize that her erstwhile soulmate worked in the same place. (In truth, she'd stopped cyber-stalking him years before, and as far as she had known, he was still living and working in Sunspear.)

She cleared her throat. “Ye- yes. Just peachy. I've got both feet on one step. See?” Truthfully, her entire body felt weak and her heart was pounding from the adrenaline rush of her near-fall. But she was not in the business of confessing weaknesses to Agent Oberyn Martell. After all, they might be soulmates, but he had been the one to reject their bond.

She was totally being mature about it.

He held onto the binder instead of adding it back to the stack in her arms, and Sansa regretted her word choice because he _did_ look. His eyes were slow as they raked down her body, and now she felt warm and flushed all over. “It would appear so,” he acceded. 

It was the adrenaline rush from her near-fall. Definitely the adrenaline.

 She wondered if the skin over his right rib burned like hers did. She hoped so, the asshole. Seriously, where did he get off looking at her like this? A familiar irritation simmered in her- not that Sansa thought she let it show- but one side of Oberyn's mouth curled upwards in faint amusement.

Their strange, silent staring match continued on for several long moments, only to be broken by a loud, beleaguered sigh.

“Don't mind me,” Agent Jaime Lannister deadpanned as he plodded up the stairs. He still had his hair long and his beard thick from the undercover sting he and Oberyn had just come off of. “Just gonna nip through all this tension here, many pardons.”  He passed in between Sansa and Oberyn, making eye-contact with neither of them. "Don't let my attempts to get to a mandatory meeting on time get in the way of you two inspecting the sturdiness of our stairs."

The spell was broken and she guiltily glanced down to the bullpen to see if anyone had noticed her and Agent Martell...what? Flirting? Having inappropriate physical contact? Staring at each other as the silence built with all the words they avoided saying to one other? Nobody had noticed, because nobody was left in the bullpen. Clearly they were all already up in the conference room, where Sansa's boss was likely waiting with impatience for the case files to be distributed...

"Seven bloody, buggering hells!" she wailed, hurrying up the stairs after Jaime, one hand clutching the bannister for security. 

Oberyn's chuckle echoed in her ears even as he followed at a more sedate pace.

 

 


End file.
